


Need That Bad Boy

by halfsweet



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blindfolds, Bottom Patrick Stump, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Brendon Urie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: Patrick skips a day of practice after watching the Boys music video. In his defense, he misses spending time with his boyfriend.





	Need That Bad Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackandwhitebrendon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhitebrendon/gifts).



> for them because they wrote [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11646666) and i'll be damned if there's an unwritten brentrick smut. not on my watch
> 
> (also bc i'm desperate for one. brentrick is getting dry, you guys)
> 
> unedited, and i'm pretty sure this is all over the place, so i apologize for that

He doesn’t really know what to expect when he walks into their bedroom with the lights off right after his phone call with Pete. He expects that Brendon would pull him to the bed and start taking their clothes off. Instead, Brendon’s standing by the bed, shirtless--his eyes rake down his bare torso and linger on his tattooed arm for a few seconds because  _ wow he’ll never get tired of that sight-- _ and illuminated by the warm glow of the  _ candles. He can’t believe Brendon puts on candles. _

His nose crinkles as he sniffs the air.  _ Scented candles, fuck. _

Skipping one practice with the guys is going to be  _ so  _ worth it.

His gaze falls on the bed; the dark sheets seem black under the lack of light, and his throat goes dry when he sees rose petals, luscious and scarlet scattered all over the bed, calling and inviting him to lie down on them, see how the petals will look and feel against his skin.  _ Against his naked body. _

Yeah, he doesn’t regret skipping band practice.  _ At all. _

There’s a quiet shuffling noise as Brendon makes his way towards him, a coy smile on his face and a dark look in his eyes. He bites his lip, fixated at how Brendon looks in this light. How his skin glows orange from the candles. How his hair is beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. How his muscles ripple under his skin as he moves.

He wishes Kinky Boots were over soon, because,  _ fuck,  _ he needs to see Brendon like this again, but with a beard. Brendon needs to grow his beard again. He likes his beard. He likes how they feel against his skin. How they prickle and scratch his skin when Brendon’s giving him hickeys on his neck. His chest. Especially loves them on his thighs.  _ God, Brendon really needs to grow his beard again. _

By the time Brendon’s standing in front of him, he’s already fully hard, jeans tight, and he just wants to get out of his clothes. He’s already sweating, the room becoming hotter by the second--it’s Brendon,  _ damn,  _ he’s so hot the temperature is rising up and up and  _ up _ as his blood rushes down and down and  _ down. _

He knows it’s actually because of the candles, but he can’t think anything else at the moment except for how  _ fucking hot  _ Brendon is.

Brendon tugs on his hand, a smirk crossing his face, and pulls him to the bed before sitting him down. His limbs feel heavy. No matter how much he wills himself to move, it’s like his brain just shuts down, ceasing all the functions of his nerves and limbs. But Brendon makes him seem light; just a small pull, and it feels like he’s floating, so light and so high that if it weren’t for Brendon anchoring him down, he’d probably float to the sky.

His heart begins to pound as Brendon kneels down in front of him on the floor, his hands sliding down his shirt until they reach the hem. He lets Brendon takes his shirt off, his pants, his boxers,  _ his glasses _ , and then he’s just sitting there, rock hard and stark naked in the dark while Brendon’s still got his pants on.

Brendon reaches for something behind him before standing up, and he looks up at him in confusion, wondering what Brendon is planning until a strip of red tie dangles in front of him. His eyebrows furrow, confused, until Brendon leans down and places the tie over his eyes and around his head, tying the ends into place.

“Is it too tight?”

He licks his lips, suddenly feeling like he just lost his voice. He shakes his head in answer as his fingers clutch the edge of the mattress in anticipation. What else does Brendon has in plan for him?

With him blindfolded, all his other senses seem to sharpen and pick up even the littlest amount of stimulus. He lets out a small whine when Brendon moves away from him, already missing his body heat and  _ God _ no wonder Brendon called him whiny once. He tries to sit still, knuckles turning white, as he tries to figure out what Brendon is doing.

The room is silent until he hears a faint  _ pop _ sound, and then there’s a glass being placed on his lips.

“Drink up, baby.”

He parts his lips, allowing Brendon to tilt the glass up until a rich flavour of--is that red wine?--liquid fills his mouth and flows down his throat. When Brendon pulls the glass back, he can feel some of the wine runs down the corner of his mouth and chin, and he lifts up his hand to wipe them away, but Brendon grabs his hand mid-way.

He opens his mouth to ask, but a moan comes out instead as Brendon begins to attach his lips on his jaw, licking at the trail of wine and sucking on his skin. His hands fly up, trying to grab onto whatever in their path, and they end up on Brendon’s shoulder and arm, and-- and  _ he’s gone. _

He loves Brendon’s arms. God, he loves them  _ so much. _ Loves how hard they feel under his touch. Loves the way they flex with every movement.  _ Loves the way they strain when they pin him down. _

Brendon has moved down to suck at his neck, occasionally grazing his teeth against the skin before licking over the mark. He tries not to move, tries to be good and obedient, but when Brendon bites down on the junction of his neck, just above his collarbone, he lets out a gasp. He knows Brendon doesn’t it on purpose; they both know that that’s one of his sensitive spots, and he loves that Brendon knows them all.

Brendon pushes him gently backwards, laying him down on the bed, and he wishes he can see how Brendon’s looking at him. He can feel the velvety petals brush against skin, and he fights off the shudder. He sinks down into the mattress when Brendon hovers over him; his intoxicating scent filling his nostrils, making him light-headed. He tilts his head up to search for Brendon, wondering which part of his body he’s looking at.

He licks his lips. And he really wants to lose himself just looking at Brendon’s arms.

“Can you take the blindfold off?”

Brendon laughs, fingers stroking his cheek. He guesses that’s a  _ no _ then. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

He nods. Brendon could ask him to do anything and he’d do it in a heartbeat.  _ God, the things Brendon does to him... _

“Hands above your head.”

After he follows his instruction, his breath hitches when he feels Brendon’s strong grip on both his wrists. He loves where this is heading, but  _ seriously-- _ “Brendon, come on, take off the blindfold. I wanna see you.”  _ More like his arms. _

If he weren’t so turned on, he would have pushed Brendon down on the bed and ride the hell out of him and tease him back in return. Instead, he’s mewling and arching his back, a weak whine escaping him when Brendon chuckles with that deep voice of his.

“Be good, okay?” Brendon whispers against his lips before kissing him, deep and heated and not at all taking it slow. He opens his mouth, moaning as their tongues brush together only to groan when Brendon pulls back.

“Wha--” He tries to tug his hands apart when he finds that both his wrists are tied up with a tie. Really. Just how many ties does Brendon have? “Just how many ties do you have?”

“Enough.” Brendon answers with a smug tone in his voice that makes him roll his eyes under the blindfold. “Enough to tie your legs and gag your mouth too if you keep talking.”

His mouth snaps shut at the underlying threat. His jaw would always end up getting sore every time Brendon gagged him; but at least he got a good massage and possibly the  _ best _ orgasm of his life out of it. And he would have kept talking just to get something shoved in his mouth until he remembers that  _ okay, he still has a band, he still has songs to be recorded, he has a tour coming in a couple of months, _ so he can’t risk anything. He knows Brendon knows this, and he loves that he can tease him--licking his own lips slow and seductive, that drives Brendon crazy like  _ hell _ \--and get away with it scot-free.

Serves Brendon right for always teasing him.

Before he realizes what’s happening, Brendon is already nudging his legs apart and kissing down his neck at the same time. He melts under Brendon’s touch, body growing pliant and loving the attention that Brendon’s giving him.

“Wish you could see how red looks on you.” Brendon whispers as he moves down Patrick’s body, pausing at his chest and sucking on a small area until it leaves a red mark, his hands running up and down his sides. “Maybe one day you can wear the boots. And some...  _ other _ things.” 

Patrick mewls, his body twisting when Brendon rests his hand on his ribs, thumb grazing across his nipple. Brendon hums as he mouths at the other, gently flicking the nub with his tongue. “You'd look so gorgeous in red. So beautiful.”

At this point, he’d put anything on as long as Brendon continues to move his mouth like that, because  _ God, _ he can’t even describe it. All his higher brain function is gone the second he saw Brendon shirtless.

He’s too caught up in the haze of pleasure that he doesn’t realize Brendon has taken his hands off of him. Brendon continues to move south, leaving trails of hickeys and bitemarks, and Patrick can’t wait to see them all. The old ones are still there, still healing, but he loves them anyway. He loves having Brendon’s marks on him.

Call him a masochist, but he likes being owned. Likes the feeling of belonging to someone.  _ To Brendon. _

He opens his eyes, gasping, when two fingers are shoved inside him without a warning. “Bren--”

“Just relax, babe.” Brendon soothes him with a kiss to his belly down to his thigh, purposefully avoiding his dick.

Patrick lets out a whine--he could use a blowjob right about now, his dick is desperate for a touch--but it dissolves into a weak moan when Brendon crooks his fingers against his wall. 

Brendon presses a kiss to his inner thigh, licking a wet stripe before he gently sinks his teeth on the skin, all the while not stopping the movement of his fingers. Patrick misses the burn on his thigh whenever Brendon does something like this. Misses the way it hurts him but--

“You should--” He gasps when Brendon bites a little too rough, “You should grow your beard again.”

Brendon’s laugh, while sounds cute, but in this condition, sends heat swirling like tsunami down in his stomach. “Anything you want, babe.”

His fingers twist in the sheet when Brendon hits him right against his prostate.  _ “Bren--” _ He gasps, grinding his hips down and spreading his legs wider. Brendon hums in return, not taking his mouth off of his thigh and continuing to leave bite marks all over his skin, and rubs his fingers against his spot mercilessly, sending him into a moaning mess.

His cock twitches, pre-cum leaking steadily into a small pool on his belly. He can feel it; his orgasm building in his stomach. It continues to build, bigger and hotter, and it’s as if his stomach is just going to burst. He digs his toes into the sheet, thighs tensing, and--

Brendon pulls away and draws his fingers back, pressing a small kiss to his knee as he sits up straight. He makes a confused and frustrated noise at the back of his throat, because he’s  _ almost there, why did Brendon stop? _

Brendon’s hands are on him before he gets to ask, rolling him over onto his stomach and--  _ oh. _ He gets on his elbows, sliding his tied-up hands under the pillow as Brendon helps him on his knees. His body shudders, like electricity jolting up his spine when he feels Brendon’s lips on the small dip on his back, his hand gently kneading at his ass.

“Can you spread yourself for me, baby?”

He shifts his knees wider, feeling his cheeks burn as he spreads himself open. It doesn’t matter how many times they do it in this position, it always makes him blush being so open, so exposed for him.

There’s no movement from Brendon, and he tilts his head back, wishing he could see what the other man is doing. But as soon as he cranes his neck, he drops his face onto the pillow underneath him, groaning loudly.

Brendon is licking broad stripes across his hole and keeping his cheeks spread with his hands. He begins to move his hips, trying to fuck himself on Brendon’s tongue, but whines when Brendon has a tight grip on him, preventing him to move at all. It sucks, too, because Brendon is purposefully dragging his tongue slow and heavy.

“Oh God--” He tightens his fists and squeals when Brendon’s tongue is prodding inside him, two fingers following. Brendon keeps going for the sensitive nerves, and he wants to pull away from the oversensitivity, but also push back to get Brendon deeper.  _ It’s excruciating. _

His cock is hanging uncomfortably between his legs, dripping pre-come on the sheets and  _ aching _ to be touched. He would have jerked himself off if his hands were untied, but even if they were, he knows Brendon would pull his hand back.

Brendon has always had this weird thing of not allowing him to touch himself, but he’s not complaining. Brendon always delivers his words in the end.

“Bren, come on.” He makes a whining noise at the back of his throat as he tries to push against Brendon’s grip. “Fuck me already.”

When Brendon pulls back, he almost lets out relieved sigh. But before his muscles can even relax, Brendon does kitten licks all around the rim, teasing him again. He  _ swears _ he can feel Brendon’s smirk against his ass. “Oh my  _ god. Brendon. _ I hate you.”

His body starts squirming, feeling his orgasm just ready to explode any second. Brendon slips his hand under him, fingers tracing over his balls before he grips his cock, stroking at a fast pace. He’s sure he’s going to come right at this very second, but before he knows it, Brendon is squeezing the base of his cock, and he can only whimper as the feeling ebbs away.

He rests his cheek on the pillow, trying to catch his breath and waiting what Brendon will do to him next. There’s a sound of the lube cap being opened, and then Brendon’s sliding into him slow. His mouth falls open with a moan as his hole continues to stretch around Brendon until he feels Brendon’s hips on his ass. 

Brendon doesn’t wait for him to adjust--they both know he doesn’t really need it anyway. Instead, he pulls back, his cock dragging out until the tip head remains inside, then pushes in again, hitting his prostate before repeating the action at an agonizingly slow pace.

He squeezes his eyes shut under the blindfold, tears beginning to prickle. He doesn’t want Brendon to tease him anymore; he just wants to come.  _ “Brendon.” _

Brendon only lets out a chuckle as he continues with his slow pace. “That’s my name. Wear it out as much as you want.”

Frustrated at how Brendon is being, he turns his head, hoping that Brendon knows he’s giving him the death glare, and snaps. “Can you go any slower?”

“You know what they say, slow and steady--”

Patrick groans out a  _ “What the fuck” _ just as Brendon grinds into his already sensitive spot. “This is not a fucking race.”

He lifts his head in curiosity when Brendon stops moving, even though his dick is buried deep inside him. He strains his ears to figure out what Brendon is doing,  _ what Brendon is planning, _ and he furrows his brows when he hears the swish of a liquid being poured into a glass followed by a quiet gulp.

“Are you fucking  _ drinking wine right now?” _

“No.” Brendon replies, his voice calm, but he can  _ hear  _ his smile. “I’m fucking  _ and _ drinking wine.”

He hates Brendon. “God, I hate you.  _ I hate you.” _

“For someone claiming to hate me, you sure do love my dick up inside your ass.”

“I’m--” He gasps when Brendon moves, slamming back inside him unexpectedly. “I’m going to  _ kill  _ you one day.”

“Sure, babe.” As soon as Brendon says it, he begins to pound into him, hard and fast and not waiting for Patrick to catch up. He couldn’t care less about it; in fact, when he finally gets over his shock, he pushes his hips back against Brendon, desperate to catch his release after being denied for so long.

The lewd sound of their skins slapped together echoes in the room, blended together with their grunts and moans and pants. They set up a sloppy rhythm, and with each thrust to his prostate, Patrick finds himself edging further and further, and he’s clenching around Brendon, teeth gritted, and--

_ And Brendon pulls out all the way. _

His chest erupts with sobs as tears escape from the corner of his eyes, leaving behind two wet spots on the blindfold. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until Brendon’s stroking his hair and kissing his shoulder.

“That was the last one, okay? I promise.”

He almost misses what Brendon’s saying over the sound of his sobs. His body and limbs feel heavy all over, thighs sore, and then Brendon’s rolling him on his back, knees pushed up to his chest before he pushes himself inside Patrick again, not holding back this time.

Patrick arches his back as his fingers scratch at the sheet, trying to ground himself but finding himself floating and losing himself into the sensation of Brendon inside him, around him, above him,  _ surrounding him. _ Moans spill from his mouth like fountain--he couldn’t give a penny about how loud he’s being at the moment--and he wishes he can see Brendon. He wants to see Brendon. Wants to see the way his hair sticks to his forehead. Wants to see the dark look in his eyes.

As if reading his mind, Brendon tugs at the blindfold, and Patrick cries out of relief as he looks up at the blurry image of Brendon, tears now spilling down to the pillow underneath. He tries to reach out for Brendon to hold him, pull at his shoulder and buries his fingers in his dark hair so they’re close,  _ closer, _ but his hands are still tied above his head.

Brendon leans down, one hand cupping Patrick’s face, the other pinning his wrists down, and presses their mouths together in a kiss. Patrick loves this moment the most; how soft and gentle Brendon can be when he’s kissing and holding him while also fucking him roughly. 

His legs fall and wrap themselves around Brendon’s torso, and his moans grow louder when Brendon gets even deeper. He’s aware that his cock is now dripping wet, especially when it’s trapped between their bodies-- _ the friction is so overwhelmingly good-- _ and he pulls back from Brendon just enough so he can speak. “I’m close.”

“Come whenever you want.”

Somewhere between him moaning breathlessly and Brendon biting down on his collarbone, his cock twitches before streaking come over their chests, the feeling so intense he has to squeeze his eyes shut until patterns dance behind his eyelids. 

His grip on the sheets loosen as he slowly comes down, but Brendon still hasn’t stopped fucking into him, still chasing his own release. He writhes on the bed, stuck between pushing himself down onto Brendon or pulling away from oversensitivity.

Lucky for him, Brendon comes a few seconds later with a grunt, his face shoved into his neck. Patrick lets out a small cry at the discomfort, but Brendon is quick to soothe him by pressing an apologetic kiss at his temple.

After Brendon pulls out and lies down next to him, both of them catching their breaths, Patrick makes a whining sound in the back of his throat, gesturing to his still-tied wrists.

“What’s the magic word?” Brendon tuts, shaking his index finger.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Untie me, or I’m cutting off sex for a week.”

“For someone who just got a good dick--”

_ “Brendon.” _

“--you sure are pretty grumpy. I mean, all I'm asking for is a little gratitude.”

“Which you will get after you  _ untie  _ me.”

Brendon sighs defeat, but he's already bringing Patrick's hands towards him to take the tie off. Once the tie is off, Patrick scoots closer and kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?”

“No.” Brendon grins in agreement before he slings his arm around Patrick, pulling him to his side. “Ready for round two?”

Patrick stiffens. “You mean that was just the first round?”

Brendon lifts his eyebrow. “Well,  _ yeah.” _

“God, you’re like a teenager. Aren’t you tired? I feel like that was, I don’t know,  _ at least _ three rounds.”

Brendon’s laughter makes him want to punch him in the stomach but also pull him for a kiss at the same time. “It’s not like you’re  _ that _ old. You’re still in your early thirties, you still got the stamina, don’t you?”

Patrick huffs and lightly shoves Brendon away, insulted. “Of  _ course _ I got the stamina! I can go on as long as you can!”

When he catches the glint in Brendon’s eyes, he lets out a small curse. He really should consider keeping his mouth shut after sex. He tends to run his mouth and blab without thinking his words through because, well, when the sex is  _ that _ good, it takes a while for his brain to work normally again.

“Good. We are going to have  _ so _ much fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> see. i would put this in parallel au but 1) this is not my au, and 2) you guys know what's happening in that au right
> 
> hope this cured a little after all the, uh, recent,,,parts in the parallel au


End file.
